By the time they’d find out who it was they’ve fucked with, the last breath on Earth was taken away from their lungs. The world broke like an egg, shattering as the core melted from its husk and into the infinite void where it could never be found again. The rest of him followed. 

​

He had become of it; life, death, decay. 

​

In the events leading up to the collision, he knew for a fact that this would have meant the end for him if he didn’t stop. Everything fell to black, and no light was visible except for the one in his body. Stark reminders that completely befell the infinite room of quiet void— because after what happened, he stopped eventually. Antlers would grow on his head, blooming red flowers and raining petals every countless day over, falling into nothing as he walked in the air and planned to make more. 

​

More what, exactly?

​

“I think that’s enough.” Rex Deus muttered, leaving a god’s deep laugh to its lonesome as A’dhabake relaxed on the seat he was given. “Your narrating is bound to give me a headache.”

​

“Everything makes quite the metaphor, does it not?” He asked. Rex Deus huffed through his nose, just for the bit of amusement before he had sat back down on his chair to level with the god on his couch. 

​

“If it makes us feel better, for sure.” 

​

“If it makes you feel better, you mean.” 

​

A quirk in Rex Deus’s lips and he shrugged. “I think of it. The collisions, I mean.” 

​

“Do you now?” 

​

“What do you think? It’s my greatest achievement yet.” 

​

A’dhabake snorted. “Your lack of possibilities in creating a trophy out of it interests me.” 

​

“Oh, don’t worry,” Rex said, “I’m the trophy.” 

​

 (He had come out alive.)

​

(In the farther right corners of time he would be standing, chained up by boulders that would rip off his arms if he had moved far too much. The ache in his shoulders showed how tired he was just standing with those weights, and he stared up into the sky where the words “this is what’s best for you” lingered in his head. To this day Rex would still feel the spread in his shoulders as he tried to swing the rocks forward, the way the bones of his arms would threaten to dislocate, how he could never sleep because relaxing would rip away his flesh.)

​

“You’re the trophy,” A’dhabake echoed, the agreement ending in sarcasm. 

​

He was the trophy. He didn’t instigate wars against people he knew in order to just walk away empty-handed. It was the power he developed, the taste of a new freedom he never experienced in his childhood.

 

Now that was a trophy. 

​

(When he once swung his arms for the boulder to crush each other, dislocating his arms in the process, he knew he was aching for that trophy especially as he screamed “MOTHER!” to the skies.)

​

“How long have you known her?” A’dhabake asked. 

​

(His fists clutched the mountains as a wave of energy charged from his chest, the clenching of his muscles accompanied by the force he was using to pick his body up were absolving him of his adrenaline, but there was nothing in his head but the mention of death and murder among his thoughts.)
 
“I knew her all my life.” Rex Deus said, bouncing his leg. “She wasn’t a bitch. I mean, she was a cunt.”

​

“Do you believe in a difference?”

​

“Well— yeah. Bitch is more… for the younger ages. I guess. She’s a cunt. She’s old, she’s stuck-up. Fucking hated every single inch of her.” 

​

“I see. How about your friends?”

​

“I…” Rex tried, then said: “got no friends.”

​

(He had many. But they all turned against him. Every instance of having to develop a strong bond was wiped away the moment he’d told them his plan.) 

​

A’dhabake doesn’t pry, not because he knows, but because he doesn’t really care about it. By this point he’d become his creator’s only company and therapist. He knows how it works, Rex Deus made him that way for a reason.

​

“You hadn’t stopped since that moment.” A’dhabake pointed out.

​

“No duh, I killed them all. Bodies give power, dude.” Rex Deus reclines against a manifested back to his seat. He picked off a flower from his antlers and played with it, waiting for A’dhabake’s queue to speak. 

​

(“I can’t remember an instance where you don’t talk about your mother like that.” She once told him. His fingers sifted through his own hair, breathing in the urge to become a menace in bed. 

​

“What’s wrong with being open?” He asked instead.

​

“Well— it’s all you think about, isn’t it?” She looked at him in sympathy.

​

Lips down turned, eyes low and tired, unhappy. “Don’t you have other thoughts for life?”

​

“I had.” He said, averting his eyes.

​

“You had.” She replied.)

​

“Why did you kill them all?”

​

Rex Deus paused, stopped picking at the flower, then looked back at A’dhabake.

 

“They weren’t the right company.” 

​

(“You’re INSANE!” One friend said, shoving him away. 

​

“That’s not news.” He replied, stepping forward. “Now, either get in line, or get out.”

​

“Waerall,” Another friend tried, “we’re your friends, not soldiers.”

​

“You’re trying to test me.”

​

As soon as one other friend stepped away, to walk— to run, he threw a knife straight to her throat. As she dropped dead the rest of them screamed in terror.)

​

“What makes for right company?” A’dhabake asked. 

​

(He stood alone. At the top of the mountains where he was prepared to jump past the atmosphere, the Earth his mother had built was sent on fire for her to see.)

​

“I don’t know. Nobody makes for the right company, I guess.”

​

(He jumped. The most powerful jump he’d made in ages. And there he was, in the middle of the stars, face to face with the primordial beast that no words could describe the monstrosity of, the disgust welled in his gut as he looked into her eyes and drew his blades.)

​

“Am I your right company?”

​

Rex Deus scoffed. “You wish.”

​

“I’m being serious.”

​

Rex Deus’s shoulders sagged. “I made you my therapist, yeah?”

​

(The war lasted for ages until he finally sunk his blade in his mother’s eye. Suddenly, everything blew up.)

​

“You said you think of those collisions.”

​

(The stars burned. She collapsed in on Earth, a supernova of collisions happening all at once. His senses shut down at that moment, skin marred, eyesight blinded, the sun colliding into him. He let himself fall, then dropped back into where the Earth was supposed to be. 

​

Instead, his mother caught him. The last of her decided to breathe the rest of her into him, and that was where he remembered nothing but the feeling of waking up, alone.)

​

“I do. A lot.” Rex Deus replied, “Got something for me?”

​

“Which part do you usually think of?”

​

(The satisfaction of her death.)

​

“Um.” 

​

(The taste of victory.)

​

“It’s…”

​

(That lack of regret.

​

And somehow, the emptiness.)

​

“I guess it’s the things leading up to it?” Rex Deus decided to say. “There’s just a lot of… components that makes me think about it. But that’s the thing that turned me into this.”

​

“Of course.” 

​

It wasn’t as if he was lying about it. There was a resounding agreement, despite the things they often fought about this is probably a more… “human” way of discussing such details. 

​

“I liked it.” Rex Deus said. 

​

(He was alone.

 

The only thing in the world that existed right now was that of the peace he finally had, and himself.)

​

“Do you still like it?”

​

Rex Deus paused. “I dunno.”

​

“You do.”

​

Rex Deus made a face. “What’s the point of you, then?”

​

“You know better than I would. I am simply here to filter your thoughts. You intentionally repurposed me for that.”

 

“Yeah, because you looked like you needed something to do, you fucking idiot.”

​

A’dhabake crossed his legs. “Answer the question.” 

​

Ad hominems were useless. They were a sign that he was losing. 

​

“Fine!” Rex Deus waved away the narration. “I hate it. It’s boring shit. I don’t wanna go back to when I was mortal but there’s nothing good with being primordial or whatever! I-it used to be fun.” 

​

“What stopped it from being fun?”

​

Rex Deus’s thumbs pressed against each other. “There was never going to be anybody who would understand.” 

 

“Except…” A’dhabake added. 

​

“Except?” Rex Deus asked. The answer clicked as soon as he asked for it. 

​

He hated it. 

 

A’dhabake raised his wings to shield himself from the way Rex Deus exploded out of his form as he threw his tantrum. 

 

“Were you expecting this ‘therapy’ to be a pleasant experience?” A’dhabake asked.

 

“I WASN’T EXPECTING ANYTHING!” He screamed. “I HATE HER! I FUCKING HATE HER!” 

​

A’dhabake waited until the plasma flames burned down, leaving Rex Deus to hyperventilate in his normalizing form, down to his knees and ready to curl up in on himself. 

​

“What do I look like right now?” Rex Deus asked. 

​

“Pathetic.” A’dhabake simply said. 

​

It wasn’t untrue. 

​

“But you must understand that undermining your own vulnerability is not quite the smartest idea.” 

​

“You just said I was pathetic.”

​

“You also inflicted that situation of vulnerability unto me.” 

​

“I know. I made you.”

​

“Then why are you not accepting yourself?”

​

He didn’t really have to think about it. He refused to, for the most part.

​

(How lonely is it really to be the one on top of the world?

​

Is this what she felt?

​

Is this her?)

​

He looked up at A’dhabake. “I wish I was wrong.” 

​

“It would not matter if you were or not.” 

​

“Fuck me.” Rex rasped out. 

​

“You have to say it.” 

​

“No.”

​

“You are behaving like a child.”

​

“Who’s to say I ever grew up?”
 
“You make this more difficult than you need to.”

​

“Fine, fuck you. This is definitely what she felt.” Rex pressed his hand against his masked face. “Once control went out of her way she ruined fucking everything.” 

​

“That—“

​

“I ruined everything. This was self-sabotage. This was me being selfish. This was me being narcissistic and self-loathing all at once. She was a monster, I became worse.” 

​

A’dhabake sat back. Rex Deus, he sat back on his heels and looked back up at A’dhabake. The sensation in his body was feeling emptier and emptier the more they stared at each other. He was made of the universe— the death of many gods, the history of stars’ blood, the radiation of billions of souls brimming under the shell of his mask and subsequent vessel. He was made with the history of a million murders and the end of the world, the universe collapsing in on itself to become reborn once more. He was not beautiful, but he was certainly a magnificent wreck. 

​

“… You really think so?” Rex asked. 

​

“You certainly are what they call primordial.” A’dhabake said, resting his chin on his hand. 

​

(“I love you.” She tried to beckon him with those words. On the top of that mountain where the war was at its climax, she only had the last of her power to carry her on the edge before he stopped her.

​

Alas, he couldn’t come back to those words anymore. 

​

“I’m sorry.” He said, and took her life away.)

​

Silence fell into the room.

​

Rex Deus had nothing more to think about past his resentment, his own words, his choices. 

​

His becomings. 

​

“I think that’s enough,” A’dhabake concluded, “There will be more words next time.”